


Dirty Car

by Gretccheen



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Bulges and Nooks (Homestuck), Car Sex, Communication, Consent, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, F/M, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Kink Negotiation, Lingerie, Literally fucking porn sorry fam, Name-Calling, No Evidence the Game Occured, Pesterlog(s) (Homestuck), Reckless Driving, Riding, Safewords, Trolls Live on Earth With Humans, Underage Drinking, Xenobiology, ending is dumb also sorry, feeding each other, songfic in the vaguest of senses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 14:13:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20977220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gretccheen/pseuds/Gretccheen
Summary: Inspired by the song of the same name by the Studio Killers. Dave and Aradia take Bro’s car for a ride and take advantage of the apartment’s parking garage.





	Dirty Car

**Author's Note:**

> Please, please don’t fucking drive like these dumbasses. Please. Also, Imma be really honest, it’s been ages since I’ve read Homestuck, so if any characters (cough Dave Strider cough) seem out of character, that’s because it’s been so long. I also don’t? Know how fucking sex works so. Odds are you probably couldn’t do this in real life. Whoops.

It’s almost two o’clock in the morning when you message him, rolling onto your stomach to wait for him to reply. You were restless, head swimming with thoughts that would make you blush if you were to speak them aloud. Because of course your boyfriend had to have a silver tongue, and said silver tongue had a habit of saying the most ridiculous one-liners that had ever graced the Earth. And you, after the giggles subsided, like a goddamn fool, dwelled on his words long after the conversation had ended, usually on nights like tonight when heat had begun to pool in your stomach and your hands itched to touch. Your phone dings, and it takes you a few seconds to find it amongst the mass of blankets and pillows. Thankfully the notification was from him--if it was anybody else you might have screamed. 

apacolypseArisen [AA]  began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

AA: dave

AA: are you awake?

TG: i am now

AA: :( i didnt mean to wake you

TG: im kidding

TG: i was up

TG: whats up

AA: is your brother home?

There’s a pause, and you’re sure that your question startled him. Very rarely had his brother come up in conversation--only in the darkest part of the night, when the two of you were drunk on the feeling of each other and more than a little sleep deprived; when secrets slipped out between kisses and hands found bruises that hadn’t been there the week before. After what feels like a lifetime (in reality, barely a minute) Dave responds.

TG: no

TG: why

AA: i wanna go for a drive

TG: you do realize what time it is right

AA: :D

TG: …

AA: youre so cute sometimes

TG: so you keep telling me

AA: because its true!

AA: but you know when we had that talk

TG: weve had a lot of talks

TG: youre going to have to be more specific

AA: the one where you told me you wanted to ride me like macklemore rides his moped

TG: …

TG: did i actually fucking say that

TG: holy shit

AA: pretty smooth stuff if you ask me

AA: so how about it?

AA: wanna go for a ride? ;)

TG: i swear to god if you fucking wink at me again

AA: ;)

TG: ill be there in five minutes

AA: :D see you soon!

turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering apocalypseArisen [AA]

You squeal, tossing your phone aside and making your way to your closet. This is a first for the both of you, and you’re going to make it special. So, you make your way to the very back where you keep your “special occasion” clothes. God, you’re going to blow his mind. You toss your pajama shirt to the floor with little forward, pulling on a dark red, lacy babydoll Feferi had gotten you for Christmas, along with the matching panties. You’re tempted to pull on a pair of striped socks you had stolen from Damara (or, more accurately, Damara had slipped into your laundry basket with a crude note that made it so you couldn’t look her in the eyes for a whole  _ week _ ) but you decide against it. It’ll just be more fabric, and it’ll just get in the way. 

Dave’s ringtone fills the room, and you giggle, slipping into a hoodie before you answer the phone. “Hi!”

“Hey,” he replies in a gush of air. “I’m at the front door.”

“I’ll be right down. Where are you taking me?”

“Where do you want to go?” 

“Well,” you let it sit for a while, waiting until Dave hums to continue. “Isn’t it proper etiquette to wine and dine a girl first?”

“Well,” he lets it sit, just as you did, waiting until your giggles subside to continue. “This gentleman thought ahead and has a twenty piece nugget sitting in a bag next to him waiting for a special burgundy blooded lady to come and share it with him.”

“Holy shit,” you breathe, and he laughs on the other end.

“This is a special occasion.” 

“I’ll be right down.” 

“Cool.” You trill in response, and he makes a low humming noise. “Do you have a bedtime, Megido? Will there be a stern mafia boss waiting at the doorstep with his vintage revolver cocked when I don’t have you home at the crack of dawn? Will I have to do my best impression of a good southern boy and say that our intentions were good and pure and no, sir, I did not just ride your daughter into the fucking sunrise like Buffalo Bill rides his bucking broncos.” You snort, taking the stairs two at a time. 

“I can’t wait to see you,” you whisper, “can’t wait to see the arch in your back and feel the curve of your spine under my fingers. Can’t wait to see you fall apart and shatter so I can pick up the pieces and put you back together. I love your heartbeat,” it comes out as a rush of air, bearing far more weight than the fragile whisper can carry. It startles you so much you still, leaning against the railing to support the weight of a love that could transcend lifetimes, a love that is timeless and eternal, because how could you feel this much for a single human being if it hadn’t carried over generations? Generations of finding him, of loving him, of watching his human life crumble beneath your fingers because your damn blood lets you live just a bit longer, just enough to feel the ache of a love lost. 

“I love that you’re alive. I love the heat that comes up from underneath your skin, the pull of your muscles when you writhe underneath me.”

“Fuck,” he breathes as you pad the rest of the way downstairs, taking a moment to grab the spare key from the dish by the door. You open it and he’s standing there, shades not on his face but tucked into the collar of shirt. The hand not holding his phone is fiddling with the hem of his shirt, and he startles when the door clicks shut behind you. He looks you up and down-- _ twice _ \--and then whistles lowly. “So this is a no-shoes kind of a event? I was almost worried it was going to be a black-collar; I haven’t found the time to press my suit.” You giggle and unceremoniously launch yourself at him, causing him to laugh. His hands settle on your waist and you tilt your head up, fully intending to kiss him senseless, but he pulls you further forward. You cling to him, wriggling until you’re somewhat comfortable, even with his shades pressing into your face and your feet beginning to get cold from standing on the concrete stairs. “I missed you,” he admits, whispering the words into the crown of your head. 

“I missed you, too.” The words stick uncomfortably in your throat and are accompanied by a burning behind your eyes. You aren’t going to cry. The two of you hadn’t seen each other intimately in almost a month, caught up in the hustle and bustle of senior year. But it’s only the middle of March. And yeah, the two of you have been stressing about high school and what happens after, but you’ve got time. You’ll find a way to make it work--the two of you always do. Somewhere there’s a college within reach where he can study paleontology and you can dabble in archeology and mortuary science; somewhere there’s a cheap little apartment next to a bar so Dave can make music on the side and watch you as you sip bloody Mary’s at the bar and dance with Feferi until the sun rises. Somewhere in that big, wide somewhere there’s a happy ending for you both. 

“There’s a bottle of champagne in the back.” He lets his hands slip just a little lower, pulls you just a bit closer. “Bro’s gonna kick my ass when he finds out.”

“Not if I kill him first.” You stand on the tips of your toes to murmur it where’s he’s most sensitive, right at the juncture between his neck and his shoulder. There are so many things you want to say to him. He must feel the same way, must sense the restless energy bubbling just beneath the surface, because there’s just so much time between  _ now  _ and  _ forever _ . Because the two of you aren’t as good with words as you are with action. He pulls back and you lean up and your lips finally, finally connect. Dave turns into putty underneath you, warm and pliant as you claw at his shoulders and kiss him feverently. 

When you pull back the both of you are panting, Dave reaching trembling fingers to brush your hair away from your face. “Carry me?” you ask, not wanting to be away from him for even a second. He huffs a laugh, but he’s already trying to pull you into his arms. You help him as best as you’re able, legs curling tightly around his waist and a death grip on his shoulders. He laughs again, curling his fingers in your hair as he carries you to his car. Dave sets you on the hood of the car and kisses you again, not even giving you time to untangle yourself from him. He’s almost animalistic in the way he kisses you, settling in the space between your thighs and cupping your face in his hands. You kiss back just as eagerly, curling your fingers in his hair and pulling him as close as you can. He stays attached to you even as he pulls back for breath, huffs of warm air ghosting your cheeks.

“I love you,” you murmur, delicately tracing his jawline. It’s an odd sort of contrast to your almost feral actions before, and Dave gives his best imitation of a troll’s trill, a low rolling of his r’s that has you purring in response. His hands run along your thighs, slipping up underneath your sweatshirt where it had ridden up. “Aradia,” he sighs, tips his head forward to rest against your chest. The two of you are moving faster than you had intended--you were going to burn each other out at his rate. You slide off the hood of the car and into his arms, letting him bury his nose into your hair and hold you until his breathing steadied. There’s a lot of the night left, and there’s a time and a place for quick and easy, but it feels like years since you’ve been with him properly and you’re going to take advantage of it. “We’ve got time,” you say, just to make sure the two of you are on the same page. “If all else fails I just won’t come home. Damara owes me, anyway--she’ll lie and say I’m af Feferi’s. We’ve got time.”

“I know,” he replies, pulling back enough to pepper kisses along your cheeks. “I just never feel I have enough time with you.” God, if you didn’t feel the exact same way. You hum in response, let him pull back enough to open the car door and giggle when he holds it open for you. True to his word, there’s a McDonald’s bag perched precariously on the dashboard, and a glance in the back proves his claims about champagne were also true. “It’s from Walmart, I think,” Dave says as he slides into the car, taking a moment to slip his shades back on. You snort, reaching up and beginning to rummage through the bag on the dashboard. He turns the car on and fiddles with the radio, waiting until you’re settled back in your seat to lean over and reach into the bag in your lap. “Where do you want to go?”

“You aren’t drinking and driving,” you turn to face him, watching as he raises an eyebrow. “Dave.”

“I know. So somewhere close, then, so I can walk you home.”

“There’s an old parking garage by your apartment, right.” 

“Yeah. Not the most romantic setting, but it’s dark and the lights are shit, perfect for your local stoner or neighborhood serial killer.”

“Anywhere’s romantic when you’re there,” you tease, making your voice as sappy as possible. He pulls a face when you flutter your eyelashes, and when you start giggling at his expression he leans over the console to press his lips against yours. “Can we do a couple laps, first?” You ask when he pulls away.

“Yeah. Buckle the fuck up, Megido.” Dave doesn’t turn the car all the way on until he hears the  _ click _ of your seatbelt. You settle, the hum of the car complimenting the somewhat staticy station Dave had picked. “I put a tape in there, before I left. Made a mix of some of your favorites, including a few originals.” He pauses, considering. “You can eat now, if you want.” 

“Did you eat?” 

“I’m saving my appetite,” he jokes, glancing at you to gauge your reaction. “We’ll go to Denny’s or some shit afterward, alright?”

“Dave, you aren’t allowed to drink if you don’t eat.” 

“Alright,” he says, and you both know that this conversation isn’t over, but he’s agreed to eat and that’s the most important thing. You pull the box of chicken nuggets out of the bag, pull one out, and hold it out to him. Dave shakes his head, but he’s grinning, turning his head long enough to let you feed him. “You’re going to get me pulled over.” 

“I’m going to get you arrested,” you purr, offering him another. Dave laughs, loud and genuine, taking a right turn faster than was probably legal. “Talk to me, ‘radia,” he murmurs once he settles, driving at a much safer speed. 

“About what?”

“Everything, nothing.” Dave gives a noncommittal shrug, turning his head when you prompt him with a hum. 

“Your head?” Another shrug. Worry swirls in your stomach and the half-hearted grin he gives does little to alleviate it. The radio crackles and you reach over to fix it, changing the station to one you know he doesn’t hate, even if he complains about the bubbly pop and the occasionally shitty rap song. He grins, a little more genuinely, and as you settle back you try to think of what to say. A million things race in your head, fear of the future, fear of running out of time, fear that one day you’re going to be too late and you’ll come to his apartment only to find him in a pile of gauze and a pool of his own blood. The two of you joke about death (you’re friends with Death, closer with Her than you think you’ll ever be with another person, but She frightens you) but the thought of Her taking Dave from makes your heart seize in your chest. 

There are times to be afraid, and now is not that time. Right now, the two of you are young, high on the thrill of young love and the taboo of what you planned to do. The two of you are young gods, immortal in the face of Death and Her welcoming embrace. You’re a fool, drowning in the heat of the sun, falling farther than Icarus ever dreamed. You’ve seen the future in cloudy dreams, and all you’ve seen is red. The sound of clockwork, heat burning your lungs and stinging your eyes; a melody of heartbeats and coffins made of quartz. But there will be time (always, there will always be time, even if you have to make it yourself). 

Dave reaches over and places a hand on your thigh, eyes trained on the road. You look up at him, and all those worries, those fears, die on your lips like you did in your dreams. He is the Sun Icarus so desperately chased; he is the reason angels left heaven and came crashing down to earth. You love him, love him so much it will damn you both, but you don’t care. You love him. You love him. You  _ love him. _ You want to feel every inch of him and burn it into your memory so thoroughly you will remember him for generations. He hums, lips curling at the edges as he whispers, “What’re you thinking, Megido?”

“I want to fuck you,” it comes out a harsh whisper, eyes narrowing as you watch his expression. His grip on your thigh tightens as you continue. “I want to make love to you. I want to have you in every way possible. I want to make you feel good.”

“How’re you going to do that, Medigo?” His grin trembles, a death grip on the steering wheel. Light fills the car as you pass a streetlamp and you can see his face is flushed. Dave’s nails dig deep enough that if you were human, he might have drawn blood. Instead it sends heat coursing through, arousal settling into a pool in your stomach. You tilt your head back, trilling lowly, and he mimics the noise the best he’s able. “I want you to ride me,” you breathe, “I want to give you bruises that last for weeks, a reminder that you’ve got someone who cares about you. Someone you can come home to.” He groans, and a quick glance down shows that he’s hard and straining against his jeans. “I’m going to paint you red, in the backseat of your brother’s shitty car, in some seedy parking garage. I’m going to make you  _ scream _ .” 

“Fuck,” he hisses, pulling his hand back long enough to make a right turn. “Fuck, Aradia, I’m not going to last if you keep that shit up.” 

“After you’ve ridden me, I’m going to fuck you into the seat. I’m,” a pause, more for you than for him; a moment to swallow the embarrassment that creates a lump in your throat. “I’m going to make you my bitch.” 

“Holy shit,” Dave throws his head back as the car pulls to a jerky stop. He sits there for longer than necessary, panting, head tilted slightly to look at you. “Holy fuck, Aradia, you sound like one of those fucking dominatrix ladies in Bro’s shitty pornos.”

“Do you like that?” It comes out painfully shy, hands curling in the fabric of your sweatshirt. 

“Aradia,” he says lowly, and when you turn to look at him, his lips are pressed feverishly against yours. Your first instinct is to pull away, because you’re still in a running vehicle and someone could pull up behind you any second, but the second instinct is practically animal, hands reaching out and grabbing his shoulders to kiss him fiercely. When you pull back you’re both breathless, panting like you had just finished a marathon. He laughs, wild, careless, and you join him, settling back in your seat slowly. Dave’s hand finds yours and he threads your fingers together. 

The two of your are quiet as he drives the rest of the way to the parking garage, focused on the feeling of his hand in yours. You feed him the rest of the nuggets, even when his brow furrows and you know that there’s  _ something _ turning in that beautiful mind of his. Occasionally he’ll glance over and his lips will curl into a grin that makes you want to kiss him again, and again, and again. Eventually he pulls into the parking garage, and he’s barely put the car in park before you’re undoing your seatbelt and reaching out to pull him in for another kiss. He grins against your lips, brings his hands up to curl in your hair as you lean across the dashboard. It’s a bit of a reach, and by no means comfortable, but it sends a thrill through you. When you pull back Dave keeps you close, pressing your foreheads together. From what you can make out in the flickering lights he’s flushed, chest rising and falling with each shuddering breath. 

His hands move up and trace your horns, using them as leverage to pull you down into a much gentler kiss. You blindly reach around him to try and undo his seatbelt, whining when one of his hands come down to help you. As he pulls away you reach up and cup his face, trace his jawline and nose with trembling fingers. Dave undoes his seatbelt and turns to look at you, reaches his hands up and pulls of his shades so you can  _ really _ look at him. “Do you wanna?” He lets the sentence hang unfinished, bending under your arm to put his shades in the cupholder before beginning to mess with the radio. 

“Yeah,” you murmur, reaching your fingers up to run through his hair. “You’re coming, too?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Megido.” He slips out of your grasp, leans over and begins to rummage through the glove box. You take a moment to ruffle his hair, watch as he stills and lets out a noise that you happily imitate before getting out of the car and clambering into the backseat. Spread across them are several ratty looking towels, and you mentally praise his foresight. When Dave rights himself you lean over the passenger seat and begin fiddling with it, trying to move it further up so you have more room. “Fucking piece of shit,” Dave mumbles good naturedly as he pushes an cassette tape into the radio. “I swear fucking Martha is going to be the death of me.”

“Dave, please tell me you didn’t name your brother’s car after Martha-fucking-Stewart.”

“Nope!” He turns, grinning toothily at you as the first few notes of his mixtape begin to play. Dave turns it up just enough that it begins to thrum through the car before gracelessly climbing back to join you. It makes you laugh, and you help him over the dash and pull him into your lap. He has to bend a bit to ensure his head doesn’t hit the ceiling, but it’s a relatively comfortable fit. You slide your hands up underneath his shirt and press your lips against the visible skin of his neck. Dave lets out an appreciative groan and grinds his hips lightly against yours. 

He’s warm, and as your hands slide along his sides you can feel the raised bits of scar tissue that had healed over. Thankfully there seems to be no gauze (that you can feel, anyway), and Dave has yet to shy away from your touch.  _ His brother must be out of town, then _ . “Can I take it off?” You murmur into his shoulder, dragging your nails lightly down his sides. He nods, mumbles something incoherent to the ceiling that makes you giggle as you begin to hike his shirt up. Dave helps you remove it and takes it from your hands, tossing it towards the front of the car. You hum, running your hands along his chest. He’s built like a fucking statue, sharp jawline and toned muscle. Dave shifts, pressing himself closer to you as his hands find purchase in your hair. You press kisses along his collarbone, one hand at his hip and the other trailing up his spine. He shudders, giving a jerky rock of his hips as you nip at the juncture of where his neck met his shoulder. 

You know it’s only a matter of time before the two of you find your rhythm again. These jerky, uncertain movements the two of you are making will settle into something so fluid it becomes hard to tell where one of you begins and the other ends. Dave reaches down and tugs at the bottom of your sweatshirt, and you laugh, because the two of you are eager and in a tangle of limbs and it’s so  _ endearing _ . You press a kiss to his forehead as you reach down to help him. As you tug your sweatshirt off Dave whistles lowly, running his hands along your chest. “Holy fuck, Aradia.”

“Like it?” 

“Yes,” he groans. “If you had told me we were dressing up I would have joined you.” 

“Next time,” you promise, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He grins, twirls one of your curls around his fingers, and bares his throat to you. With a hum you reach up and cup the back of his head, threading your fingers through his hair before pressing your lips against his neck. Dave groans and you can feel the vibrations. He gives a lazy roll of his hips, testing the waters, and with your free hand you grip his hip and hold him against you. The startled noise he makes urges your onward, and you meet the gentle rock of his hip with more insistent ones. Your drag the hand in his hair down his back, watching him arch and reach blindly back to brace himself against one of the seats. It settles at his hip, holding him firm as you grind up into him. 

“God, if there was more room I’d go down on you,” he babbles, gazing down at you with half-lidded eyes. “Want you to fill me up. God, you look so fucking hot when you fuck my mouth. You look so fucking good.”

“Could say the same thing about you,” you murmur into his shoulder, sliding one hand up towards his chest. “Do you think you could lean a bit further back for me?” Dave nods, sliding further back until both his arms are braced against the front seats, practically sitting on the console. You edge forward a bit, settling between his legs and guiding them to rest on either side of you. “Comfortable?” He sticks his tongue out in response, making you laugh. You grab his right shoulder and his left hip, leaning over him to press a kiss to the dip between his collar bones. He shudders, arching his back slightly. 

  
  


Dave keens as you move lower, grip tightening. His legs reach up and around your back, pulling you closer. You press kisses down his chest, tightening your grip on his hips to keep him steady. Dave’s knuckles are white on the headrests of the seats as he jerks forward to meet you. Part of you wants to make him cum just like this, with his back arched and heels digging into your back as he bares his throat to you and keens your name. The other half wants to watch him come undone riding your bulge; you want to watch him cry and hear him scream your name. You want to hold him in the aftermath, when he’s boneless and hiccuping and warm. 

“Aradia, I want, I want to.” You pause, giving Dave a moment to sort out his thoughts. “I wanna ride you. Wanna make fucking Buffalo Bill turn in his grave with how I fucking ride you. And then, then I wan’t, want you to fuck me into the backseat so hard I can’t even fucking stand tomorrow. Aradia,” he whines, peering at you prettily behind his lashes. “I want you to make me your fucking bitch.” You lean forward and he rises to meet you, quickly closing the distance as you press your lips to his in a feverish kiss. 

“Come here,” your murmur against his lips, pulling him forward. He tumbles clusimly into your lap, ducking and bending deeply to avoid hitting his head on the roof of the car. “I need to prep you. Fuck, I didn’t bring lube. Did you?”

“Don’t need it. I can take it, Aradia, come on.” He rocks insistently against you, murmuring the words into your hair. “Your bulge is practically a fucking lube machine. I’ll be fine.”

“I can’t believe you,” you laugh, nipping at his shoulder. “If it hurts, you’ll tell me, won’t you?”

“Yeah,” he says breathlessly, raising his hips a bit when you start tugging on them. It takes some maneuvering, but you manage to get his jeans and boxers off. He reaches between you to tug at your panties, and you swat his hands away. Dave settles beside you long enough for you to tug them off and throw them on the passenger seat. “How do you want to do this?” 

“Lean against the door. So you can brace yourself on one of the front seats.” You do as he says, one leg on the seat and the other on the floor, tightly gripping the headrest of the passenger’s seat. He takes a moment to just stare at you, lip drawn between his teeth as his eyes find your bulge. “C’mere, cowboy,” you murmur, which makes him laugh. You laugh, too, head bumping against the window as you grin toothily at him. 

He closes the distance between the two of you, reaching out to wrap a hand around your bulge. You keen, bucking into his hand. He knows he’s teasing you, the fucker, and you’d almost be mad if he didn’t look so goddamn endearing. He looked hopelessly starry eyed, fascinated, lip drawn between his teeth as he watched your every move. “Dave,” you murmur, reaching out for him, “I won’t last if you keep being a bastard.” He chuckles, then, shoulders sagging in a boneless sort of gesture. Dave wipes his hand on one of the towels and comes to settle over your lap. “Go slow,” you urge, reaching up to steady him. “Dave, I’m serious.”

“Fine,” he sighs, but you know he’s trying to be funny. Besides, if he tried something reckless you’d flip him back onto the seats and fuck him so slowly Pangea would form again. His grip on your shoulders is almost painful as he situates himself, nails digging into your shoulders as he shifts to try and find a position that isn’t too uncomfortable. You rest one of your hands on his hip bone, rubbing soothing circles as you use your other hand to help guide your bulge inside him.

Dave, true to his word, takes you slowly, easing his way down. He stops when he bottoms out, thighs already beginning to shake with the effort to keep him upright. You run your hands along his sides, dragging your nails lightly across his skin. “You doin’ okay, Dave,” you murmur into his shoulder.

“It’s a lot. You’re fucking big.” 

“Well, I’ve gotta have something that can fill that big mouth of yours.” Dave lets out a shaky laugh. He gives a tentative rock of his hips, and you dig your nails into them to keep from rocking back into him. Dave groans, pressing his forehead against yours. “Thought you were gonna make me your bitch, Megido,” he taunts, rocking his hips again.

“I’ll make you my bitch when you can prove you can handle it, Strider.” 

“You’re talking a big game. You really gonna make me scream?” He pulls back enough to narrow his eyes at you, lips pulled into a shaky smirk. You use your grip on his hips to raise him up, grinning back as you slam up into him, holding him tightly in place. Dave swears, fingers twitching against your shoulders. “Keep saying shit and I’m gonna really make you work for it.”

“Yeah,” he says breathily, trying to bring himself back down on your bulge as you pull out, but you’ve got a firm grip on his hips. 

“Yeah,” you say with a pointed thrust of your hips. Dave groans in frustrated, trying to chase the movement. “Tell me how you’re gonna ride my bulge and maybe I’ll let you.” 

“Fuck, Aradia,” he whines as you begin to thrust in and out of him shallowly. “I’m gonna get bruises from hitting the roof from how hard I bounce on your fucking bulge. I’m gonna have fucking legs of steel by the end of the night. Do you know how many fucking horse movies Dirk made me watch growing up? I’m gonna fucking ride you better than those sorry excuses for cowboy’s could even  _ dream _ of.”

“Prove it.” You press your lips against his, releasing the death grip you had on his hips. Dave raises himself high enough that his shoulders bump against the car roof and slams back down. He sets a fast pace, one that you quickly meet, and you put your hands on his shoulders to try and keep the bruising to a minimum. His voice is a symphony; you can feel his moans as much as you hear them while you run your hands across his chest. Every rock of his hips has you chasing him, wanting to chase that fleeting feeling of ecstasy. He was going to drive you mad at this rate. 

“That all you got, Megido,” he challenges between ragged breaths. You huff, nipping at his shoulder and try to change the angle. Dave keens, and you grin into his shoulder and thrust again. “Found it.”

“No shit.”

“‘m gonna be an archaeologist, baby; we’re good at finding shit.”

“I’m gonna fucking--you did not just--oh,  _ fuck _ .”

“Trying my best to, babe. You holdin’ up?”

“Yeah, yeah. ‘m close.” His fingers curl in your hair, tugging until you look at him. God, you’d give anything in the world to keep this vision of him with you forever. He looks like an angel, hair haloed by the flickering fluorescents. Peering at you from behind his eyelashes he grins, but it’s interrupted by a moan, head tilting back as he lets the pleasure wash over him. You love him so much in that moment it aches, and you lean up to meet him, pressing kisses against his throat as he keens. Each thrust hits that spot inside him that you know makes him see stars, and suddenly he tenses, taking you nearly to the base. 

He tightens, thighs shaking as his orgasm washes over him. You guide him through it, rocking into him and murmuring praises into his shoulder. Your own is quick to follow, and he gives a whimper as you fill him. There’s a moment where he’s tense, so still it almost worries you. He relaxes all at once, like a puppet with the strings cut, sagging forward so quickly you almost don’t catch him. You steady him, reaching a hand up to run through his hair. “Easy, Dave. I’ve got you, babe, I’ve got you.”

“Fuck me,” he sighs.

“You’ve got stuff in the console, right? Here, c’mon, lay down so I can clean you up.”

“Don’t,” he groans as you shift, “don’t bother. You’re just gonna fuck me again.”

“Dave…”

“I’m living out my teenage chick flick, Megido. Humor me?” He smiles shakily at you, fingers curling in your hair. “I’m fine. Just give me a second to catch my breath.” 

“You did good. My good boy. Took it like a fucking champ. Any preferences for the next round?” He shakes his head, and you hum. “Well, if you think of anything, let me know, okay? One more round, then we’re going to go back to the apartment, and I’m going to make you the best mac and cheese you’ve had in your goddamn life.” 

“Guess you got it all figured out, huh?” Dave looks content, gaze half-lidded and all the tension gone from his posture. “Know how you’re gonna fuck me, too?” Damn that filthy mouth of his. You hadn’t noticed, too focused on making sure he was okay, but he had started a slow rhythm again, rocking gently against you. He knows you’ve noticed, now, because he throws his head back and laughs, giving a pointed roll of his hips. You love him, love him so much it  _ aches _ , and you thread your fingers through his hair and pulled him against you, pressing your lips against him to kiss that shit-eating grin off his face. 

He matches your intensity easily, biting your lip and tugging at your curls. He guides you forward, leaning back. It’s a tight fit. His shoulders are against the door, legs bent and wrapped around your waist. You’re hovering over him, one hand braced against the head of the seat and the other pressed against the door. Every movement causes you to shift inside him, and he groans. He pulls back, panting. “Think you can pin me?”

“It’ll be tight.”

“Don’t care. Fuck me slow. Like a goddamn turtle. You know those fuckers have really loud sex? Bet you can’t fuck me slow and make me scream.”

“I’m going to scream if you don’t shut up.” There’s no threat in your words, and even if there had been, you were laughing. 

“Shut me up, then.” He’s grinning, too, hands moving above his head. You take his wrists in one hand and kiss him hard enough that his head hits the door. He rocks up against you, groaning in frustration when that isn’t enough. You pull all the way out, watching his face as you begin a pace that, from the way his face contorts, is so slow it’s  _ painful _ . He strains against your grip, tries to rock against you, fails, and settles back with a low groan. “ _ Somebody’s _ acting a little impatient,” you tease, finally bottoming out. “You asked for this, baby. Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet.”

“I’m going to die.”

“And I suppose I’ll have to change my profession. Think they’ll let me preserve your body? I’m sure there’s a mortuary school somewhere around here.”

“You are  _ not _ allowed to sound that sexy talking about my corpse.”

“Why, afraid you’ll get a  _ boner _ ?” You laugh as he groans, giving a roll of your hips. “We’re already committing a crime? What’s one more to the list?” You change the angle, watch as his face crumples and his back arches. You keep your thrusts shallow, rocking against his prostate. He makes a soft noise, and you lean down to nip at his collarbone. “You asked for this, babe. You wanted it nice and slow; you wanted me to make you scream. I’m going to fuck you until you’re begging for me to let you come; until you’ve gone all soft and boneless under me.” You pause, squeeze his wrists gently. “That sound good, baby? Or do you want something else?”

“Yeah,” his voice breaks half-way through, and you slow. “Be mean, please.”

“Remember that time at my house, baby, when we talked about this. About me being mean and nasty during sex. Remember your safeword?”

“Record,” he replies, peering at you from behind his lashes. “I say record and you’ll stop faster than a law abiding citizen at a red light.”

“Good, that’s good. You’re a good boy, Dave. You remember when to use it?”

“Yeah, I ‘member.”

“Alright. You want me to keep holding you like this, or do you want your hands back?”

“Keep ‘em,” he murmurs, letting his head fall back. “Fuck me up, ‘radia. Please?” You kiss him, far gentler than you had before, breathing a sigh of relief when he relaxes under you. Shifting, you bring your free hand to his chest, dragging your nails down it. He arches, heels digging into your back, but you can’t be bothered to care. “Look at you, taking it in the back of a car like some whore. I didn’t even have to pay you to sleep with me.” He groans, trying to rock against you. You bring your hand up, let it brush his throat before coming to settle in his hair. You tug, causing him to let out a shaking gasp. “Dave, sit here and take it like a good bitch or I’ll make you sit here in the back of the car while I drive laps around the apartment.” 

He shudders, making a low noise that goes straight to your bulge. You watch his throat bob, resist the urge to bite it in a way that you know might actually hurt him. Giving a slow thrust you watch as his entire body tenses in an attempt to stay still. “It’ll hurt more if you don’t relax,” you say the words into his temple, wait for the breathy sigh and the slow release of his tension to thrust again. You nip at his ear, press your tongue against the shell and watch him shudder. “There’s my good bitch. I’m going to give it to you just the way you like.”

“Please, ‘radia,” he groans, hands flexing in your grip. “Please.” 

You press your thumb against his pulse point, watch him shake and thrust hard into him. “Say ma’am like the good little southern boy you are,” you say after a moment, pulling all the way out. It takes a moment for him to process it; you can feel his jaw working as you press kisses against it. “I won’t go back in until you say it.”

“Please,  _ ma’am _ .” His voice cracks halfway through, and when you roughly thrust back into him, filling him to the hilt, he lets out a choked sob. You kiss him, reaching down between you for his cock. You match each tug with a thrust of your hips, shifting with each until he keens into your mouth. He whines when you pull back, but you want to watch him fall apart. He’s close, you can tell, and you whisper, “C’mon, Dave.”

He comes with a sob, and as the sudden tightness around your bulge sends you over the edge, too. You release his hands and run yours through his hair, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Dave, baby, you did so good. I’ve got you. You’re okay.” He’s practically boneless as you pull him into your arms, letting you guide his chin to your shoulder as you run your hands through his hair. “Just breathe, yeah? You did good. What do you need me to do, baby? I don’t think there’s any water in the car...I could probably carry you back to the apartment?”

“‘m fine, just...just give me a minute?” 

She doesn’t answer, just pulls him closer and presses her lips against his temple. He sighs, and she rubs circles into his hips, hoping that he won’t get worked up. It’s happened once or twice--the blissed out afterglow was shattered when one of them got so caught up in their own thoughts that they slammed back into the bodies. Dave shifts, squirming until she lets him up. He studies her for a moment; she almost thinks he’s going to grin, but his expression falls. “I don’t want to go home.”

“Then don’t.”

“You’ll get in trouble.”

“You’re worth the trouble. And it’s no trouble. Damara brings home boys all the time. They won’t mind. And if they do, I’ll raise hell. Come home with me?” You reach out for him, hesitant, and when he lets you place your hand on his cheek you sigh in relief. “My bed is big enough for two.”

“Can we stay...just a little longer?” He glances at you like he’s afraid you’ll say no. As if you could say no to him.

“Yeah, baby. I’ll stay as long as you want.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.” 

Eventually you take him back to your house, and you don’t look your sister in the eye as you half-carry Dave into the living room. “Have fun?” She teases, puffing the smoke from her cigar in your direction. You flip her off, and Dave whines at the sudden movement. Damara laughs so loudly you’re worried she’ll wake the rest of the house. You bare your teeth and snarl and take Dave to your bedroom, shutting and locking the door. “Didn’t clean the car,” he mumbles as you push him towards the bed.

“I’ll do it tomorrow. Go to sleep, baby. We can take care of it tomorrow.” For a moment you think he’s going to argue, but he gives a nod and settles into the bed, purposely stealing all the covers and wrapping himself up into a cocoon. You shake your head, settling beside him and running your fingers through his hair. Sleep eventually finds you as well, and when the morning light spills into the room, you know that you’ve fallen in love with an angel. 

And you know you’d do anything to keep him.


End file.
